


Stolen Moments

by Eressë (eresse21)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught up in being a father, Erestor neglects Glorfindel once too often. A sequel to <b><i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1262971/chapters/2605357">Greenleaf & Imladris Redux - Finale: Just Reward</a></i></b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I do not own LOTR or any of its characters. They are the property of that esteemed master storyteller, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate._

Artirion, Eldamar, _lairë_ F.A. 256  
The house was neither large nor elaborate in design. But it was stately and exuded a sense of muted nobility. No overbearing statuary or impressive stone columns graced either courtyard or entryway. No soaring second story rose above its slate roof, no sprawling gardens lay beyond its back entrance. It was an abode built for comfort and contentment but its beauty and elegance was due to its inhabitants’ impeccable sense of taste and inborn restraint.

That was not surprising when one learned that it was home to the highly respected but reserved chief steward of the Lord of Artirion and his exalted mate, the erstwhile Lord of the House of the Golden Flower in Gondolin, re-born Balrog-slayer and captain of legendary Imladris and presently of Artirion. What had surprised many and continued to baffle them was that said Balrog-slayer had chosen to remain in Lord Elrond’s service rather than return to Tirion upon Túna and take up his position as a scion of his ancient and noble house.

But Glorfindel had never cared for the trappings of high position or the adulation that came in the wake of his illustrious career. Duty, responsibility and an implacable sense of honor had impelled him in times past to take over the rulership of the members of his house who had chosen exile in Middle-earth in the First Age. For those same reasons had he accepted re-birth and the second sojourn in the Hither Lands in service to Elrond of Rivendell.

But they were not the reasons he had chosen continued service in newly founded Artirion over power and privilege wielded from the venerable family seat in the elven city in the cleft of the Calacirya. His reason was not principle but emotion. His reason was Erestor.

Born in Middle-earth to parents of different elven tribes, bereft of their love and caring early in life, the chief steward would not have felt at ease amongst the Noldor of Tirion. Erestor would always and ever feel most at home and of use amongst his former fellow Elves of Imladris. And as Erestor had ensnared Glorfindel’s heart long ago so had his desires dictated the golden Elda’s choices when they came to Valinor together a quarter of a millennium ago.

Not that Glorfindel regretted foregoing his former life and status. He had found his greatest happiness in the arms of the auburn-haired counsellor who had once been his student and had since become his most trusted colleague. Not to belittle the miraculous gift the Valar had chosen to bestow upon them but, in Glorfindel’s opinion, Erestor was and always would be his greatest blessing.

The apple of the fair-haired captain’s eye presently puttered around the small but orderly garden behind the house. Here was no lush rose collection such as grew in the garden of Elrond’s lady wife Celebrían or the exotic and utterly rare blooms that graced the expansive grounds of Finarfin in Tirion. There was no rhyme or reason for the choices of blossoms—daisies, violets, forget-me-nots, baby's breath, elanor from Maltaurë and sundry other lovely but quite common flowers. If a bloom found its way into the garden it was because either Erestor or Glorfindel favored it.

Erestor bent over the golden patch of elanor, loosening the soil around it before quenching the blossoms’ thirst. As he straightened, he found himself caught in a powerful embrace. Powerful but impossibly tender at the same time. Lips pressed against the side of his neck, eliciting a shiver and a sigh from him. He turned his face and met Glorfindel’s lips with his own. He was shifted around and pulled more tightly again the warrior’s hard body. A suggestive hand on his hip communicated quite succinctly what Glorfindel desired of him.

It was a day of rest for both and invariably they chose to spend it at home together rather than take off in search of adventure or amusement. They did not have to; they found more than enough of both in each other’s company, frequently enough in their conjugal bed.

Erestor gasped against Glorfindel’s lips as his hips were tugged closer, bringing their groins into heated contact. There was definitely no mistaking what the fair-haired Elda intended for the rest of the afternoon.

“ _Ada?!_ ”

They broke apart as five little Elflings, none older than a score of years, came dashing around the house into the garden. Glorfindel sighed with resignation as Erestor slipped out of his arms and turned to greet the new arrivals. The one who had called out hurried into his arms and lifted an excited countenance up to him.

“What now, Galadon?” Erestor asked his only child.

“Can I swim in the river?” the little Elf implored. “‘Tis horridly hot and Uncles Elladan and Elrohir have already given leave to the others.”

His parents had to smile at the exaggeration. Valinor’s climate was never as unpleasant as Middle-earth’s could be. Neither its long summers nor short winters (a recent introduction by the Valar for the sake of the Sindar of northern Middle-earth) could be remotely described as discomforting.

“Ah, and who will watch over you?” Glorfindel inquired, ruffling his son’s hair fondly.

“I will,” called out a deep, familiar voice.

The two looked up and smiled in greeting as Elrohir approached, Celebrían at his side. The Lady of Artirion was as serenely exquisite as ever, her argent locks shining like spun silver in the sunlight. Elrohir’s dark beauty was in striking contrast to hers yet in his features one saw a glimmer of his mother and that marked him as much her son as Elrond’s.

Elrohir chuckled at the hopeful faces of the little ones about them. “You might as well give in,” he said. “Or live with long faces for the rest of the day. You know the others will not forsake Galadon should you deny him.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Aye, they are a loyal lot, aren’t they,” he remarked. “Very well, _iön_ , you may go. But—“ he added when his son broke into delighted giggles, “—you must remain within sight at all times. The river may be calm in this season, but it can be perilous if you are heedless.”

“I will, _Ada_ ,” Galadon promised. He hugged his golden father and snuck a kiss at his dark-haired parent before rushing off with the others. Elrohir hurried after them but Celebrían lingered a while. She had taken note of Erestor’s anxious mien.

“Now, Erestor, there is no need to worry,” she gently admonished him. “‘Tis not the first time they have swum in the river.”

“But ‘twill be the first without my presence,” Erestor replied.

Not about to pass up an opportunity to be alone with his mate, a thing understandably lacking in recent years, Glorfindel placed a hand on his arm and subtly pulled him closer.

“Elrohir is more than capable of keeping them out of harm’s way,” he said.

“Mayhap with two or three,” Erestor countered. “But five?” He shook his head. “I would rather help him than have regrets later.”

“Erestor—“

Glorfindel stared with some exasperation as his mate left. He pursed his lips with displeasure before remembering that Celebrían was still by his side. He looked at her apologetically.

“He takes his paternal duties quite seriously,” she gently murmured. At Glorfindel’s unsmiling nod, she added: “Too seriously mayhap?”

The warrior let out a frustrated exhalation. “You would think we were still in Middle-earth the way he dotes on Galadon,” he said. “I confess I do not fully understand his over-protectiveness of our son.”

Celebrían slipped her arm around his and pulled him along. “Come, we might as well join them rather than have you brood over this,” she suggested. As they walked, she said, “As for Erestor’s demeanor, I would venture to guess that it has much to do with the loss of his parents so soon in life.” At Glorfindel’s curious glance, she added: “Do you not recall Elrond’s own behavior when the twins were born?”

Glorfindel stared at her awhile, then nodded. “Aye, he was so besotted with them, he nigh neglected you for months after.”

Celebrían chuckled. “Nay, he did not really neglect me,” she said. “Else I would have packed up the children and returned to the Golden Wood! But he _was_ distracted by them to the point that he oft forgot his duties as husband to me. I would have taken exception to this but for my suspicion of the cause. Like Erestor, my dear lord had had to make do without the regard of his parents ere he reached his majority.” She sighed as she recalled her husband’s straits. “Because he lacked parental love and guidance he gave as much of himself as was possible when he became a parent himself. He could not bear to see our children suffer as he had.”

Glorfindel looked at her in latent comprehension. “He tried to compensate for his loss by trying to keep your children from ever knowing his sorrow,” he stated.

“As Erestor I think is attempting to do with your son,” Celebrían finished for him. “But my husband was more fortunate in that he had Elros to console him during their formative years. Erestor had no close kin at all.”

Glorfindel blew his breath out. “I can understand such a need,” he said. “But I cannot do without my mate’s attention indefinitely. How did you engage Elrond’s?”

Celebrían shrugged daintily. “I simply waited,” she admitted. “I let him sate himself with their company.” She suddenly giggled. “And I made a long visit to Lórien to remind him of what he was neglecting.”

Glorfindel laughed, of a sudden remembering Elrond’s fury and frustration when he began to miss his wife after a half-year drought of her loving. Yes, that had certainly cured the Imladrin lord of his husbandly negligence. When Arwen was born a century later, he had not forgotten the lesson taught him by his beloved lady and knew enough to balance his attention between his wife and his infant daughter.

The warrior sobered after a moment. “That will not work with Erestor,” he said a little sadly. “If you recall, I stayed in Formenos for an eight-month last year to avert a brewing feud between two mining guilds. I thought Erestor would miss me and yearn for my return soonest.” He laughed softly, but bitterly, the sound making his companion glance at him with a frown. “It was nigh a week after my return before I finally bedded him. And do you know why? Because he chose to accompany Galadon on a camping trip with Elrohir and Legolas and their sons.” His mouth tightened at the painful memory. “He would not part from Galadon for four days though _we_ had been apart for months!”

Celebrían bit her lip. She had not known that and she suspected neither had Elrohir nor Legolas. Both would have insisted that Erestor see to Glorfindel’s needs rather than agree to his joining them on that trip.

“I am sorry, Glorfindel,” she murmured. “I did not realize how badly things have gone between you.” She patted his arm comfortingly. “Have you spoken to Erestor of your grievances?”

The captain nodded. “Many times.”

“And?”

Glorfindel snorted. “He apologizes, attempts to make amends for a day or two and then forgets what we discussed. Sweet Eru, I never thought I would say this, but had I known the price I would pay to have a child of our own, I would never have asked the Powers to grant our wish!” He turned unhappy eyes on a hushed Celebrían. “I love Galadon with all my heart and soul, but there are times I yearn for the days when he was not here to take Erestor’s love from me.”

“Glorfindel! Erestor loves you!” Celebrían exclaimed.

The warrior shook his head. “I am no longer so sure of that,” he said. When his lady started to protest, he added: “Even if he does, I know I am no longer first in his heart. I have not been since our son was born.”

She would have said more but they arrived at the river and it became imprudent to speak of such matters where young ears might hear them. With a sympathetic hug, she released Glorfindel’s arm and gently urged him to go to Erestor. He did and at once slipped an arm around the latter’s waist when he reached his side. She sighed as Erestor returned the gesture but in a cursory manner. As one who did so in instinctive response and not out of true desire. Glorfindel’s expression was impassive but his eyes evinced his renewed disappointment.

Celebrían joined her son where Elrohir stood on the riverbank. He had shed his shirt and shoes in readiness should he be required to dive in and pluck a hapless Elfling from the water. But he was relaxed for he did not believe such a service would be needed. The children were strong swimmers and had learned their lessons almost from infancy onwards.

The Lady of Artirion smiled with loving regard at her grandchildren, whether by blood or affiliation. For she thought young Galadon as much her own grandchild as the sons and daughters of Elladan and Elrohir. She perused the younglings with pride and deep-seated affection. Her home was much the richer with these latest additions of babes.

She had to admit, it was wonderful to have little ones about once more. With Elladan’s sons grown and off on their own—Elros soon to bind himself to Lindir and Elendir oft away exploring Valinor with his long-time maiden love—the home she shared with Elrond had seemed much too quiet. But now, it was alive with the noise and laughter of Elflings again and she would not have it otherwise.

There were Elrohir and Legolas’s lively twenty-year-old twins, Eledhmîr and Mîranor, counterpoints in color and personality, yet as close to each other as their darkling father was to his own brother. Raven-haired Eledhmîr was the reserved one, the twin who preferred the quiet of his Imladrin grandfather’s study and frequented the Elf-wright’s shops in his fascination with all things wrought whether they be of stone, metal or wood. Golden-haired Mîranor was the adventurer, the wily hunter, the extrovert who was as at home in the fastness of any forest as the sire he most resembled.

Their little sister Irilde, now all of fourteen years of age, was a luscious blend of her parents. Her hair was paler than Legolas’s and her countenance as delicate, but she had Elrohir’s sinuous lips and strong jaw and her eyes were a deep blue flecked with silver, a most astonishing feature in any Elf. Small wonder her Peredhil father doted on her when he could see his mate’s incandescent beauty in her tiny face.

Her cousin was no less comely. Ereiniel was Elladan’s daughter to a marked degree, though Nimeithel had bequeathed her slender full-elven form to her daughter as she had to her sons. So alike was the little _elleth_ to the aunt who had chosen a mortal fate that she had been similarly named. Her hair was as black as night, pointing up her ivory complexion, and her eyes were of a luminous violet hue. Already many said she was Lúthien returned, a declaration that seldom pleased her parents. After all Lúthien had chosen to abide by the Doom of Men and the one who had been hailed as her equal in beauty and grace had done likewise. Ereiniel would not need to make such a choice—none of the Peredhil would do so any longer—but the memory of loss was ever present and none cared to add to it.

A minor altercation caught everyone’s attention. Mîranor had mischievously pushed both his brother and Galadon off the banks ere either could dive in properly. A moment later the victims grabbed their would-be tormentor by his ankles and hauled him in as well. Celebrían and Elrohir shook their heads in mirth at the children’s antics. She smiled fondly as a flash of red and gold bobbed a moment above the water before vanishing below in a feathery spray.

Spritely Galadon looked like a miniature version of his golden sire but for the emerald of his eyes and the reddish glint in his blond hair. He was bidding fair to be as gloriously handsome as Glorfindel though not as outgoing. For in personality he was Erestor’s son—more reticent both in word and deed, yet quite eloquent and resolute when he desired to impart or acquire something. 

Celebrían’s smile faltered.

The dear child was at the center of the growing rift between his parents though not the cause. She wondered if and when Erestor would realize his error. Hopefully, not after Glorfindel’s forbearance snapped. Once it came to that, it would be much more difficult to mend matters. Artirion’s captain was not one to lose his patience or temper readily but when he did, few could withstand the heat of his displeasure. She was not all that sanguine that Erestor would once it was unleashed.

**************************  
Glossary:  
lairë – Quenya for summer  
Ada – Papa  
ion - son  
elleth – Elf-maid

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

Glorfindel grinned when he entered the Hall of Fire to find two of the most virile Elves in Aman coaxing their daughters to sleep. He glanced about and noted the rapt expressions on the faces of the other occupants of the hall. It was difficult to say which was more mesmerizing—the sight of Elladan and Elrohir cuddling their respective young ones or the sound of their voices blending in wondrous harmony as they softly sang a lullaby together.

They were seated on the furs in one corner of the great chamber but their fair voices gently resounded throughout the room to the delight of every Elf present. Nimeithel was settled on the divan to their right, flanked by Elendir and Elros. Lindir sat at Elros’s feet, leaning against the side of the younger twin’s thigh, Elros’s hand on his shoulder. Legolas, on the other hand, half reclined against the wall to Elrohir’s left, Eledhmîr on his lap and Mîranor snuggled against him, held securely in the crook of his arm.

Ensconced together in the couch before the great hearth, Elrond and Celebrían smiled genially as they regarded their comely sons holding their maid-children in their arms. There was no more beautiful sight in all Aman in their doting eyes. But they were not the only ones to stare so relentlessly at either brother.

Legolas’s gaze was fixed on the Elf-knight in a manner that was all too telling. Any with their wits around them would know how the night would end for the Wood-elf and his Peredhil spouse. If he could tear Elrohir away from their daughter, that is. Glorfindel’s grin faded.

No contest there. No matter how besotted Elrohir might be with any of his children, he would always hearken to Legolas’ claim upon his heart. Nay, not even the tender daughter he had nurtured in ways no _ellon_ had ever been meant to do could come between him and his golden prince.

Glorfindel sighed a little disconsolately. Had Elrohir behaved as Erestor did, he would not have felt so adrift and forsaken. He could have comforted himself with the reasoning that such flagrant closeness to one’s child was born of the exceptional and therefore life-changing experience of being a begetter in all senses of the word. But Elrohir had never allowed it to change his demeanor with Legolas. For that matter, Legolas had not altered either in his manner with Elrohir. They were as devoted to each other as they had been before the advents of their little ones.

There was no getting around the problem. Erestor had not changed because of that blessed event. Erestor had changed because he had not sought to balance his roles as Glorfindel’s mate and Galadon’s father. He was taking for granted the love that had been his for more than ten centuries while assiduously guarding the relationship between parent and child that had been wrenched from him too soon in his youth.

Glorfindel did not begrudge him that. How could he resent his mate’s need to establish a bond that had been denied him with his own father and mother? But even an Elf of Glorfindel’s forbearance could not endure such woeful treatment forever. Especially an Elf possessed of the passion and affection the captain held in his heart.

The Elda’s patience was wearing thin—was already thinner than the fragile ice that coated a lake at the onset of a mild winter.

He watched as Elrohir rose, tiny Irilde snug in his arms. The Elf-knight’s eyes alighted on his woodland spouse for a moment, but in that fleeting glance seduction found its mark. A tinge of color touched Legolas’s cheeks and a small smile curled his lips. The archer quietly urged his sons to rise and soon came to Elrohir’s side. They departed the Hall of Fire together.

Some minutes later, Elladan stood as well and passed his slumbering daughter to Elendir. He slipped his arm around Nimeithel and guided her from the hall, their eldest-born following with his sister safe in his embrace.

Glorfindel’s countenance grew grim. Time was when he would hurry home after a full day’s duty and did not leave again, reluctant to part from Erestor even for the space of an evening. Not so any longer. More oft than not, after spending time with his son before Erestor put Galadon to bed, he came to the Hall of Fire, kept late hours with the warriors under his command or joined either Elrond’s family or other close friends for a convivial drink or more. Even on their days of rest they only rarely kept intimate company, which had been otherwise in years past. He wondered if those halcyon days would ever come back.

Yet he could not keep himself from knowing the stirrings within that only a beloved partner could inspire. Anything that reminded him of Erestor—a glimpse of dark hair similarly braided or a tunic or robe in the colors the steward favored or even anything spoken just so as to sound like him—was enough to enflame him with wanting.

Which was exactly what happened now when he turned his eyes to observe Elros and Lindir who had remained behind. They would finally bind to each other come Elros’s next begetting day. But there was no mistaking that the rites would merely affirm what had long been a reality. That they were already one in heart and body and would only need the mingling of their blood to seal their spirits as well.

Lindir had lifted Elros’s hand and pressed his lips to his betrothed’s palm, closing his eyes in blissful contentment as he did. Elros leveled a desirous gaze at him, looking down at an angle that brought his unplaited hair forward, obscuring his face somewhat. For an instant, he resembled Erestor when the counsellor left his auburn locks unbound.

Glorfindel sucked his breath in sharply. It was now nigh a week since he had done anything more than share a kiss or a caress with Erestor. Suddenly, with Elros and Lindir’s affectionate display before him, he felt an acute desire for his mate, however errant said mate had been.

Feeling he would burst if he did not assuage his unbidden yearning soonest, Glorfindel left the Hall of Fire and swiftly departed for his own home and hearth.

* * * *

Erestor straightened up in his chair and stretched his slender arms. He glanced out the window at the darkened garden beyond. He was in the study and had been bent over the accounts of Elrond’s estate for close to an hour. He would soon be done with them.

In the nineteen years since Galadon’s birth he had adjusted his schedule to accommodate his son’s needs. If that meant occasionally bringing work home that he might have more hours with Galadon, then he did so. At all other times, the child was with his teachers in Elrond’s halls, joining the other Elflings of his age in the steady acquisition of knowledge and skill that was as intrinsic to Elves as breathing.

He sighed with satisfaction as he took note of the little more that still had to be done. It was always a relief to be able to complete his tasks before retiring for the night. Being free of them come morning meant more time to devote to his son.

A shadow fell over the desk. Erestor glanced over his shoulder. A pair of cobalt eyes met his emerald gaze. And Glorfindel, of course, he added mentally if belatedly.

“Back so soon?” he said with an absent smile as he turned back to the papers on the desk. He had gotten quite used to Glorfindel leaving for Elrond’s halls or the barracks once Galadon was tucked in.

“Aye, and with good reason,” Glorfindel quietly answered. “Come to bed, Erestor.”

The steward chuckled briefly. “In a moment,” he said, continuing to peruse the accounts before him.

He started when a lean but unmistakably strong hand suddenly pinned the sheaf of parchment to the desk in a manner that brooked no protest.

“ _Now, melethron_ ,” Glorfindel said.

Erestor stared up at him. The warrior’s voice had not risen at all but there was just the faintest hint of impatience in his tone. And while his expression remained quite pleasant, his eyes gleamed warningly. Realizing any argument would be futile when Glorfindel was in this mood, Erestor acceded, laid down the quill and rose from his seat. He snuffed out the single lighted taper on the table.

Glorfindel silently ushered him out of the study, a firm hand on his back, then led the way down the lamp-lit corridor to their bedchamber. Erestor studied him curiously, wondering at his peculiar mood. Just before they came to their room, they passed Galadon’s. A muffled whimper reached their ears through the door.

“He must be dreaming,” Erestor guessed and made to enter the child’s room.

To his surprise, Glorfindel stopped him and said, “Go on, Erestor. I will see to him.”

With an uncertain look at the warrior, Erestor did as he was bid and went on. He glanced back once to see Glorfindel disappear into their son’s room. Entering the chamber he shared with his mate, he sank down on the edge of the bed and waited.

About ten minutes later, Glorfindel entered their chamber. He looked pointedly at Erestor who had not shed his jerkin or shoes or unbound his hair while awaiting him. The steward flushed slightly and rose to his feet. Walking to the wide wardrobe of dark polished wood, he started to unfasten the vest.

“How is he?” he queried as he undid the clasps.

He gasped as Glorfindel pulled him back against his tall frame. The captain bent and lightly bit the side of his neck while his hands slipped beneath the steward’s long shirt and began to work at the lacings of his breeches. Erestor shivered as much from his mate’s peremptory manner as from his sensual attention.

“You did not answer me,” he managed to say, his breath hitching when the warrior suckled his skin hard enough to leave a bruise.

“He’s asleep,” Glorfindel growled against his flesh. “‘Twas nothing more than a bad dream.”

Erestor stiffened. “He had a nightmare?” he said. He tried to pull away only to find himself trapped in an adamantine embrace.

“He is asleep, Erestor,” Glorfindel repeated none too patiently.

Erestor wriggled insistently, trying to slip out of the captain’s arms. “But you know full well that when he has a nightmare, he tends to re-live it as soon as he falls back asleep,” he pointed out. “Please, let me look in on him. I will be quick about it.”

Glorfindel eyed him skeptically. But when Erestor laid a pleading gaze on him, he relented.

“Very well,” he said and released the steward. “But do not tarry. I am more than ready for bed.”

Erestor flushed more deeply at the blatant meaning behind his mate’s words. He nodded and went out. Glorfindel sighed then unbuckled his belt and got on with the business of undressing.

When he was down to his breeches and boots and still the steward had not returned, he scowled with mounting annoyance. Erestor was hardly being quick about it at all! His mood darkened with every minute that passed from thereon. At last, after twenty minutes of fraught waiting, he passed out of the room. With every step to Galadon’s chamber, his temper worsened.

He pushed open the door then stopped and stared. And continued to stare in anger and frustration.

Erestor lay on the bed by Galadon, cradling the sleeping Elfling. He did not look in the least like he would be leaving his son’s side any time soon.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel bit out, his voice beginning to vibrate with ire.

The counsellor glanced up and frowned. “Hush, you will wake him,” he chided. He turned his attention back to their son.

It was then that he felt the distinct chill in the room. Startled, he lifted his head and looked at Glorfindel. He met a gaze so icy as to freeze the very ocean itself. And then the warrior swept out of the room with nary a word. Erestor did not move a muscle for the next several moments, so taken aback was he by the warrior’s glacial regard. And then he launched himself out of his son’s bed, acutely aware that a line had been crossed and that it was he who had crossed it.

He burst into their bedchamber in time to see Glorfindel clad in his shirt once more and pulling on his tunic. He stared in consternation as the captain swiftly and silently fastened the outer garment. He hastened to the Elda, an anxious frown creasing his smooth brow.

“What—what are you doing?” he demanded, his voice not as firm as he would have liked. “Glorfindel?”

His mate declined to answer him but only drew his belt around his waist and buckled it. Still silent, he strode across the room. Erestor grabbed him by the arm as he went by.

“Glorfindel, where are you going?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

Glorfindel brusquely pulled his arm away, the movement so abrupt, Erestor staggered slightly backward. At the last instant, before he slipped out the door, the warrior looked back and skewered his spouse with a black glare.

“Since you do not desire my company, I will go where it _is_ wanted,” he ground out.

Ignoring Erestor’s shocked stare, he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and stalked down the corridor so rapidly that by the time the steward followed, he was already near the end of it.

Erestor stared after his fast receding figure in dismay, the implications of Glorfindel’s reply making his heart lurch in fear and pain. He started to run after the warrior.

“Glorfindel, wait!”

“ _Ada?_ ”

Erestor stopped and looked back in confusion, torn between his child’s alarmed call and the need to keep his mate from departing. He took a step forward to go after Glorfindel.

“ _Ada!_ Where are you?”

The wail was distinctly frightened now. No doubt Galadon had been awakened by the sound of the bedchamber door when it had been slammed shut. With a resigned sigh, Erestor retreated to calm and comfort the child.

As he patted his son back to sleep, Erestor finally comprehended the enormity of his folly. With the warrior’s last words resounding forebodingly in his mind, he was forced to see—really see—the blemished state of their relationship.

It had taken just one careless action to snap the last brittle strands of Glorfindel’s patience. Baldly put, he had pushed his spouse too far.

He bemoaned the thought that he had allowed Glorfindel to leave their home. And in so doing permitted the captain to seek the company of others this night.

Or one other.

He felt his blood run cold at the very idea. Elves did not take their marital vows lightly even in widowhood. But there were always exceptions to every rule.

It seemed he had handed Glorfindel one of those exceptions. On the tarnished platter of his willful neglect.

******************************  
Glossary:  
ellon - male Elf  
melethron – male lover  
Ada - Papa

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

Erestor had not previously known a more miserable night. As he lay in the dark, sharply conscious of the empty space beside him and all too cognizant of the reason for it, he had perforce reflected on all the events leading up to Glorfindel’s fuming exit. The signs had been there for many a year now, buttressed by the warrior’s intermittent complaints to him about the increasingly infrequent bouts of intimacy not only of their bodies but also of their souls.

When was the last evening he and Glorfindel had spent together just talking and enjoying each other’s company? He could barely remember it. And the last night they had coupled with the overwhelming fervor of gutting desire? Erestor swallowed hard. He could not recall any in recent times when he had felt lustful enough to match his mate’s hunger for him.

The memory of disappointed aquamarine eyes looking back at him was enough to make his belly turn over with guilt and dread. How often had that disappointment evolved into outright hurt? Too often, he admitted to himself with flaying remorse. And he had been foolish enough to think his occasional ministrations balm enough. Where had his wits gone to believe such a farce?

He rose before dawn, hoping to find Glorfindel back and willing to listen to his apology. That was dashed immediately when he stepped out of their room to find none but the household staff up and about. A staff that surreptitiously observed him, curious about his tense behavior and the signs of a sleepless night. Not to mention the glaring absence of their other master whom some had witnessed making a rapid and apparently furious departure the evening before.

Erestor did not bother to hide his distress. For once he did not care for propriety or discretion. The ache inside him would not subside until Glorfindel came back and allowed him to seek forgiveness.

Yet the warrior’s return did not prove cathartic in any way.

They were both expected at the meeting of the High Council in Tirion. Said meeting was the reason for Elrohir and Legolas’s presence in Artirion—their visits to the Elf-knight’s family were usually arranged to coincide with the Council schedule. It made more sense than them making two separate three-hour journeys from Taur Galen each week.

Erestor had readied Galadon early; he and Glorfindel always left their son in Celebrían’s care on these days. Galadon did not mind in the least. Not when it meant a good many hours spent in the lively company of Eledhmîr and Mîranor who were admittedly his closest friends. Dressed and prepared for the short trip to Tirion, Erestor had then settled himself and his child in the courtyard to await Glorfindel’s arrival, seating themselves on one of the stone benches near the entrance to the house.

He came in the second hour after daybreak. Erestor rose at once to his feet upon espying his tall, limber figure swiftly traversing the path to their home. Galadon, however, did not await his golden sire’s approach but dashed to him.

Glorfindel scooped his son up into his arms and pressed a fond kiss first to his burnished locks and then to his puckered lips. Galadon wove his slender arms tightly around the warrior’s neck and returned his father’s affectionate gestures with relief.

“Where were you, _Ada_?” he demanded. “I went to wake you up but you were gone!”

Glorfindel hugged him tighter then drew back his head a bit to look at his child. “I needed to see to something of import last night,” he said. “I am sorry, Galadon. I did not mean to alarm you.”

Galadon beamed sweetly. “That’s all right, Ada,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of Glorfindel’s face with his own. “You’re back now. But aren’t you going with Ada Erestor to Tirion?”

“I am,” Glorfindel confirmed. “Indeed, I must dress at once else we will be late.”

Recognizing the need for haste, Galadon allowed his sire to set him down. The warrior strode past Erestor, acknowledging him with the barest of nods. The steward stiffened with alarm when he caught a whiff of the scent that clung to his mate. It was the scent of a soap he did not recognize. Glorfindel had already bathed that morning. But where?

While Glorfindel entered the house, Erestor quickly signaled to one of the servants to watch over Galadon. He hurried after his mate. Entering their chamber, he watched mutely as Glorfindel shed his clothes and briskly donned a fresh shirt and formal hose then drew on his council robes. Only when the captain slipped on his shoes did he finally break the silence.

“Where did you go last night?” he queried.

Glorfindel did not seem to hear him but only said: “Let us go, Erestor.”

“But—“

“We will be late if we delay any further,” Glorfindel cut him off and stalked out the door.

Erestor sighed and reluctantly followed him.

They dropped Galadon off at Elrond’s halls and were joined by the others in turn. To Erestor’s disappointment, Glorfindel chose to ride ahead with the twins and Legolas, leaving him to keep company with Elrond and Lindir. He was hard-pressed to remain composed during the quarter-hour ride to Tirion. Particularly when it became evident that the others knew something was amiss. Their tactful avoidance of the issue told him that they suspected he and Glorfindel were not on speaking terms at the moment.

He caught Legolas glancing back at him with sympathy. Correction. They knew Glorfindel did not care to speak to him at the moment. But they did not badger him with questions. They knew all too well that he was barely keeping himself collected as it was without having to deal with painful inquiries. Their kindness eased his unhappiness somewhat but he still found it difficult to maintain a calm mien. It did not get any better when they reached the city and their destination.

The halls of the High Council lay in the very center of the city that all citizens of Tirion could look upon its members as they came up the short drive and entered its august premises. There was nothing ostentatious or grandiose about the building however. There was no desire for anything more than what was necessary to cater to the basic needs of the council members when they were in session. The High Council met to discuss and mediate and undertake to keep the peace between the various elven tribes and realms in Valinor and did so with a minimum of fuss and ceremony.

The circular Council chamber had been designed to remind one and all that once they were within they were all equals regardless of name, rank or occupation and were to treat each other accordingly. There were three tiers of seats in all and anyone could sit anywhere as one’s mood or situation dictated. Only Ingwë, High-king of the Eldar and head of the council, and Mithrandir, as the Valar’s representative, had permanent seats, both located on the bottom tier on either side of the room so that they faced each other.

Erestor felt his heart sink when Glorfindel deliberately sat apart from him, taking his place beside his father, Lord Herusil, a kinsman of Finarfin, ruler of the Noldor, through the king’s mother, Lady Indis, herself a cousin of Ingwë. He was an imposing Elf by any account, crowned with hair of so pale a silver hue as to be almost white and possessed of the iciest of blue eyes. 

He had not chosen as his son had ages ago to pass east to Middle-earth, but remained in the Blessed Realm, turning his services and loyalty to Finarfin who had been named lord of the Noldor in his brother’s stead. As such, he was one of Finarfin’s most trusted advisors and a personal friend as well. He was an Elf to reckon with in all Valinor and one not lightly thwarted.

The steward was well aware that Herusil had not been pleased with his youngest son’s choice of binding-mate. A mixed-blooded Elf of no particularly noble heritage was not exactly what Herusil had had in mind for any son of his and especially not for one who had earned such glorious repute in two lifetimes in the Hither Lands.

He was never uncivil with Erestor; indeed, he was always impeccably polite. But one could not mistake that politeness for anything more than the graciousness demanded of a noble of Herusil’s stature. Erestor had never felt comfortable in the company of Glorfindel’s father or other kin and neither had they felt at ease with him. 

It was the most compelling reason for Erestor’s preference for Artirion where he lived amongst Elves who completely accepted him and called him one of their own. And Glorfindel had chosen to live away from his kin, even his immediate family, rather than part from Erestor.

'Yet now he stays with the one Elf who wishes I had never been born,' the steward thought painfully. 

He forced himself to consider other reasons for Glorfindel’s choice of seat. After all, Herusil had not attended council the past three weeks, having travelled to Formenos to see to his family’s many holdings there. Since it was usually during his visits to Tirion to attend council that Glorfindel also took the chance to spend time with his family, it stood to reason that he would desire to keep company with his father now. Erestor insistently told himself this was so. Unfortunately, he did not prove convincing even to himself.

He started when he felt a comforting hand on his and looked up into Galadriel’s knowing eyes. Celeborn sat beside her and also gazed at him with compassion. Flushing, Erestor dropped his gaze. They could not know what exactly had occurred between him and Glorfindel but they were observant enough to infer that a serious rift separated him and his mate.

It proved a ghastly morning for him. Hardly anything registered on him, so mired was he in his misery. His reticence only called more attention to him for many had taken for granted that they would hear from Elrond’s sage, precise and articulate steward at some point during the proceedings. For Erestor to keep silent was cause enough to arouse the others’ curiosity. He cringed inwardly as several Elves eyed him wonderingly during the course of the morning’s discussions then looked bemusedly at Glorfindel. The strange sight of these two sitting apart was not lost on any of them.

When the morning session was adjourned that the council members might have their midday meal, he dared to approach Glorfindel. Thankfully, the warrior did not turn his back on him but waited for him to come closer. But his words only upset Erestor further.

“If you do not mind, I would like to join my father at his table,” he said.

Erestor felt his throat tighten. “But of course,” he managed to concur. “Extend my greetings to him then.”

Glorfindel simply nodded then left to join Herusil. Erestor sighed forlornly and made his way to the dining hall.

He did not dine alone. The twins and Legolas and Lindir at once joined him. Still they did not question him but simply comforted him with their companionship. Not for the last time did Erestor marvel at his fortune to have been befriended by such good-hearts. He could not quite smile his gratitude but his cat-like eyes gleamed gratefully at his friends.

During the course of the meal, Legolas and Elrohir’s plans for the end of summer were revealed. Erestor listened with interest and not a little wistfulness as the two discussed the matter with Elladan and Lindir. Since the birth of their daughter, the Elf-night and archer had made it a point to take a holiday at least once a year. They could thus indulge each other’s desires to the fullest without fear of untimely interruptions or unseemly discovery by inquisitive Elflings.

“Mayhap Elros and I should go and see the place for ourselves,” Lindir said with a grin when Legolas finished with his enthusiastic narration.

“But why the south?” Erestor asked curiously. “‘Tis not as fully settled as Alqualondë or even Formenos.”

“Precisely why they want to sojourn there,” Elladan quipped. “Where else can they rut in wild abandon with no one to shush them?”

Lindir guffawed at such flagrant ribaldry, while Legolas turned a nice shade of crimson. Elladan yelped when he was dealt a distinctly inelegant, but painfully effective kick in the leg beneath the table. Elrohir, struggling to stifle his mirth, rubbed his blushing mate’s back soothingly then turned a mild glare on his irrepressible twin.

“Fie on your wicked tongue, _gwaniuar_ ”—older twin—he reproved but with little heat. “Reserve your salacious wit for more willing ears lest you wish to explain to Nimeithel why your shins have been abused so.”

Legolas sighed and glanced at Lindir. “I salute you for your courage in taking on so incorrigible a law-father, _gwador_ ”—sworn brother—he remarked dryly.

While Elrohir and Lindir choked on their laughter, Elladan’s was promptly quelled. This time it was Legolas’s turn to smirk and very smugly at that. 

Erestor shook his head at the archer’s sure aim. Nothing could discomfit Elladan more quickly than the reminder that he was about to become father-by-law to an Elf not only many centuries his senior, but also one who’d had a hand in raising him from infancy. The steward turned the conversation back to safer ground.

“How is your brother’s colony doing?” he inquired.

“‘Tis flourishing I am happy to say.”

“And where will you stay?”

“Melthoron and Haldorn built a guest cabin close to their halls which they have placed at our disposal,” the prince replied. “It will be good to see my brother and law-brother again. I have long desired to visit them.”

“Not to mention that their descriptions of the forests around them and the beaches to the east are all too enticing,” Elrohir grinned.

Legolas grinned back. “Aye, that too,” he agreed. “‘Twill be our chance to see the wonders of southern Valinor for ourselves, Aduial.”

“If they can tear their eyes away from the wonders of each other’s bared charms first,” Elladan murmured in an aside to Erestor and Lindir, his humor, both good and bawdy, swiftly restored.

Erestor groaned and hastened to forestall another riposte from the archer. “How long do you plan to stay there?” he queried.

“A fortnight at the very least,” Elrohir promptly answered. “Longer if we find it to our liking.”

He shifted the hand that lay under the table ever so slightly. At once, Legolas gasped faintly but audibly and slight color stained his cheeks. Erestor rolled his eyes as he astutely guessed just where Elrohir’s hand must have landed. Valar, but the brethren were irredeemable rakes! he thought.

“And _Adar_ and _Naneth_ are so looking forward to having the twins and Irilde to themselves, that they fervently hope we will extend our holiday!” Elrohir added with a soft laugh. His eyes gleamed darkly as he regarded his still blushing mate. “But mayhap a fortnight will indeed prove inadequate to our needs,” he purred. “What think you, Calenlass?”

“I think you had best keep your hands to yourself,” Legolas muttered. “If you do not wish to scandalize every Elf in sight.” His blush deepened further when Elrohir’s below-the-table grip upon him moved further north of its present position. “Elrohir, move any higher and I swear I will not be held responsible for my actions!” he threatened hoarsely.

Elrohir chuckled and relented. “Forgive me, _meleth_ , but your beauty makes it hard for any sane Elf to restrain him or herself,” he cooed. “What more one who has known it so intimately all these years?” When Legolas would have made an acid retort, he preempted it with a kiss of such ardency that all others who saw them could only stare agape. Elrohir drew away and eyed his flustered prince tenderly. “And I am not ashamed to own myself besotted with you, my heart,” he murmured.

Legolas, ire rapidly vanishing, leaned his head against his Elf-knight’s shoulder, a soft smile lighting up his comely face, uncaring at that moment of the many gazes upon them. Such was the power of Elrohir’s unabashed show of love for him that the archer quite forgot his innate inhibitions about public displays of affection.

Erestor stared at them with some amazement. After all these years, he still was not used to Elrohir’s unrestrained manner with Legolas. Then again, he supposed it was to be expected of one who had known the confines of the Halls of Awaiting and endured a painful and uncertain separation from his beloved spouse.

That called to mind yet another who had passed through death and back into life. He looked in Glorfindel’s direction, wondering what the warrior made of the tender scene. He caught his breath when he observed the captain’s expression.

Envy could be plainly seen in Glorfindel’s countenance. And more. Erestor comprehended that his negligence of his mate’s needs were being held up in sharp relief to Elrohir’s constant devotion to Legolas. He winced inwardly at this sure addition to the captain’s growing list of his failings.

He would never know how he managed to last through the day. It proved to be a long one and it was early evening when they came out of the council halls. Not that it got any easier on the trip home. True, Glorfindel rode alongside him but as he hardly uttered a word to him, it was as if he was not there at all.

He barely managed to muster a smile when they reached Elrond’s home and their son came tearing out of the house to meet them. Nor did his spirits lift as they headed for their own home, Galadon exchanging news with his golden father in whose arms he had happily settled.

Due to the late hour, the Elfling nodded off ere they finished supper. Erestor bundled him off to bed then hastened to join Glorfindel. He found the captain doffing his council raiment. But before he could say a word, Glorfindel spoke up.

“My father has invited us to spend a sennight in Tirion with the rest of the family,” he said. “I am sure Elrond can spare us for so short a period of time.”

Erestor could not for the life of him still the consternation that assailed him at the mere thought of nigh a week in Herusil’s halls. To be always on his guard in what he said or did, knowing all his care would be to no avail? It would be unbearable.

“I–I do not...“ he stammered. “Glorfindel, you know how it is when your father and I...“

The warrior interrupted him. “I rather expected you would balk at this,” he said. “I suppose I cannot blame you. _Adar_ can be fixed in his ways.” He glanced pointedly at Erestor. “But you will not object, I hope, if I take Galadon with me,” he quietly added. “I would like our son to become close to my kin as well.”

Erestor swallowed hard. How could he turn down such a reasonable request after having already said no to the first? “By all means,” he replied. “‘Tis right that he should know your sire and dam.”

Glorfindel nodded then turned to the wardrobe and took out a tunic, a fresh shirt and a pair of breeches. Erestor stared at him in dismay as he drew them on.

“You are going out tonight?” he all but bleated.

“Aye,” Glorfindel briefly answered.

“Where?”

The warrior shrugged and headed for the door. Erestor stood before him, barring his way.

“Please, may we talk about-about last night?” he pleaded.

Glorfindel hesitated then shook his head. “Not now, Erestor,” he quietly said. “I do not wish to recall the hurt just yet. Another time perhaps.”

He stepped around the steward, seemingly oblivious of the stricken expression that crossed Erestor’s countenance.

“You need not wait up for me,” he said as he opened the door. He paused and looked back at Erestor, irony limning his features. “Not that you ever did,” he softly remarked. And then he was gone.

Erestor stared after him, stunned by the dreadful sting of his mate’s comment. All the more since it was no more than the truth. He sank down onto the bed, his face white from the verbal blow. Only then did he realize that Glorfindel had not enlightened him as to where he would pass the night.

For the second night in a row, he would face an empty space. And struggle with the raucous suspicions of his presently all too speculative mind.

*****************************  
Glossary:  
Ada – Papa  
Aduial – Twilight (Legolas’s pet name for Elrohir)  
Adar – Father  
Naneth – Mother  
Calenlass – Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)  
meleth - love

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

Glorfindel left for his father’s halls two days later with an excited Galadon chattering a mile a minute as their steed bore them away from Artirion. Erestor watched them go with a forced smile that faded as soon as they vanished from sight. His unhappiness became apparent then—so apparent that the household staff felt the pall of his gloom enshroud them.

It was not simply that his mate and child would be away for nigh a week. It was also that in the two days ere they departed, Glorfindel did not spend a single night with Erestor. Each evening, after Galadon had been tucked into bed, he had left Erestor and taken off for the Valar only knew where. And the morning after returned to their home always accompanied by that maddeningly unfamiliar scent.

Yet he would not say where he had passed each night, would not say who he had kept company with, would not give so much as a clue as to his nocturnal whereabouts. And Erestor could not force him to speak. Not when each attempt to get something out of the warrior would only be met with a firm “Later, Erestor. When I can bear it.”

The steward would back down then. He was in no position to force the issue since ‘twas he who had precipitated their quarrel in the first place. And truth be told, while part of him desired to know where Glorfindel was spending his nights, another part was deathly afraid of the knowledge.

Elves did not betray their marital vows as easily as mortals sometimes did. Nor did they covet the spouses of others. Erestor repeatedly told himself this was so when his worst fears threatened to overcome him.

But how to explain Maeglin who had not only sought his own cousin Idril but continued to desire her even when she married Tuor? What of Finwë who had taken a second wife in Indis, thus dooming Miriel Serindë to an eternity within the Halls of Awaiting however willing she may have been? And more recently, there had been no shortage of Elves who had attempted to gain entry into Legolas’s bed when they had thought Elrohir out of the way, first by way of his passing into the fastness of the timeless halls and later by dint of the loss of his memories. How did one reconcile these events with the tenet of elven fidelity?

Elves were not perfect beings. There lay the rub. They were more resistant to temptation and folly than mortals but they were not immune to them.

* * * *

He saw Glorfindel four lonely days later. At the weekly High Council meeting.

He had gone through all four days with grim determination, seeing to his duties and efficiently so despite his personal strife. Whether by fortune or fate, his workload was lighter than usual and he was oft able to take a reprieve from keeping his unrelenting professional mask in place. Nevertheless, the effort had proved wearying and the need to maintain it at council wore his spirits down further.

The warrior spotted him from across the chamber just as he was taking his seat. To Erestor’s surprise, he approached him before the day’s proceedings began.

“Are you well?” Glorfindel quietly asked him.

Erestor took a moment to compose himself. “As well as I can be,” he murmured. “Under the circumstances.” He forced himself to meet the captain’s gaze. “And you?”

Glorfindel shrugged dismissively. “Well enough,” he said. He looked at his mate curiously. “‘Tis odd that you have not asked how our son is doing,” he commented.

Erestor stared at him. Yes, it was strange. But his first thought that very morning had been of Glorfindel. And his first emotion had been of anticipation at seeing the warrior at council.

He gazed at Glorfindel, his emerald-hued eyes an open book for the captain to read. “He is in your care,” he said. “I do not think I need worry about him.”

Glorfindel regarded him a while longer. “He is enjoying himself,” he elaborated at last. “It seems he has much in common with his cousins.”

“Your sisters’ sons?” Erestor queried.

“Aye.”

The steward forced a smile. “That is good,” he said. “I am glad he has found friends among them.”

“And you?” Glorfindel asked unexpectedly. “Might you not find friends among my kin?”

Erestor started, taken aback by the unlooked for question. He did not speak at once but let his gaze settle on Herusil who stood across the chamber speaking with Ingwë. He drew a deep breath and looked at Glorfindel once more.

“I do not know if I can,” he answered honestly. “But... I would like to.”

Something glittered in Glorfindel’s eyes, what Erestor could not tell. But the blond warrior suddenly reached out his hand and the steward took it unthinkingly.

“ _Adar_ is hosting a dinner in my mother’s honor tonight,” he said. “‘Tis her begetting day.” The cobalt eyes were almost unbearably piercing.

_Join me in my father’s house._

Erestor caught his breath as the thought brushed his mind. His dismay must have shown in his eyes for Glorfindel nodded slightly then sighed. “Let us take our seats,” he softly said, releasing Erestor’s hand.

But he did not return to Herusil’s side. Instead he took a place by Elrond not too far from Erestor’s own seat. Erestor sank down into his chair, his gaze returning frequently to the warrior. At least he was not so remote today as he had been before he left for Tirion with Galadon. And he seemed—Erestor considered the best description—serene? Aye, that was it. He seemed more at peace with himself.

It struck him then. It did not seem possible that Glorfindel could look more beautiful than he’d ever been. But it was and he did. And there were not a few who appreciated this and were not hesitant to hide their regard.

The feelings took Erestor completely by surprise. He suddenly seethed with jealousy and indignation of an intensity he had not thought himself capable of.

It did not matter that such attention was but natural for one as comely as Artirion’s fair captain. He did not care that this same scrutiny was accorded Elrond’s sons and Legolas, Galadriel and Celeborn and all other Elves of uncommon beauty, even the High-king himself. All that registered was that it was Glorfindel who drew the eyes of many this morn.

He soldiered through the day with only one thought in mind, bolstered by the brief exchanges he had with Glorfindel during the course of the afternoon. He returned to Artirion only long enough to bathe and change into proper attire for an evening’s gathering and to fetch himself enough clothing for the remainder of his family’s sennight in Lord Herusil’s halls.

* * * *

He arrived at Herusil’s house and was greeted at the grand front entrance by the Elf-lord’s astonished housemaster. He noticed how several servants stopped in their tracks when they saw him. Ignoring their patent curiosity, he quietly but firmly requested that his belongings be deposited in Glorfindel’s room. And then he marched straight to the torch-lit gardens where the party had congregated, leaving the servants to gape after him.

Had he not been deeply frightened and fighting to conceal it, he may very well have laughed at the expressions on the faces of Glorfindel’s parents, siblings and cousins when they caught sight of him. Not to mention the reactions of the guests who knew of Herusil’s opinion of him. As it was, he scarcely managed to keep a spuriously calm façade as he approached the family where they stood loosely gathered around the long table laden with food and drink.

He had dressed with care—he would not give Herusil the satisfaction of criticizing him even for his choice of clothing. He had donned a deep green tunic delicately and sparingly embroidered with silver purl. Matching his eyes, contrasting with the burnished dark red of his hair, emphasizing the creamy fairness of his skin, it served to point up the very things that differentiated him in appearance from most Elves.

He saw Glorfindel almost at the same instant Glorfindel saw him. Clad in muted silver and palest blue, the warrior stood out amongst the guests, a tall, shining figure of peerless beauty. Not even Herusil could compare with his son tonight.

For a moment, Glorfindel stared at him in disbelief. Quelling the queasiness in his belly, Erestor strode to him with all apparent confidence. Only one who knew him well comprehended the quavering uncertainty behind the mask. Glorfindel met him halfway, reaching out a hand in welcome.

“You came,” he said, taking Erestor’s hand in his.

“As you bid me,” the steward replied. “Am I welcome?”

He could have wept then and there when his golden mate smiled long and warmly at him. “Very welcome,” Glorfindel said. His hold on Erestor’s hand tightened. “Come, you must pay your respects to _Naneth_.”

Erestor nodded and allowed the warrior to lead him to his parents. Meeting Herusil’s cold gaze, Erestor could not help but hesitate in his otherwise steady stride. But then he felt Glorfindel’s hand on his back. Supporting him, he realized. A surge of affection coursed through him and he dared to glance gratefully at the captain.

Herusil proved as recalcitrant as ever but Erestor stoically endured his disdain. Instead of dwelling on the older Elf’s continued disapproval of him, he extended his greetings to Glorfindel’s mother with as much warmth and sincerity of intention as he could muster. The good lady could do no less and welcomed him quite graciously. The others greeted him likewise, little of their previous aloofness in evidence.

Erestor did not deceive himself that they had suddenly come to desire his company. He was more inclined to believe that they were kind to him because it was safer to treat him thusly with a certain Balrog slayer all but glaring them into good behavior. But suddenly he did not care. What mattered was that Glorfindel stood by his side, his arm around his waist, refusing to cater to his own father’s wishes. It dawned on Erestor anew just how highly Glorfindel regarded him.

What other Elf of so noble a house would have foregone his birthright for love of his chosen mate? It sealed his determination to mend their rift before the day was done and win back the golden warrior. _His_ golden warrior, he told himself with a stab of possessiveness.

“ _Ada!_ ”

Galadon came streaking down the garden path, followed by a passel of Elflings his age. Laughing gleefully, the child leaped into Erestor’s arms and held on tightly while the other children milled around them, looking at the steward wonderingly. Well, that was not surprising since they scarcely knew him.

“I missed you,” Galadon murmured, burying his face in Erestor’s neck. “Just like _Ada_ Glorfindel.”

Erestor’s breath hitched at the child’s revelation. He glanced at Glorfindel, almost expecting a contradiction. But the captain only regarded them with a trace of amusement.

“How do you know he did?” he whispered, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“He said so,” Galadon replied. “He said he was lonely without you.”

The color deepened in his cheeks. He could not quite look at Glorfindel. But he could not stifle the elation that welled up within him. It seemed he was not the only one who yearned for reconciliation.

* * * *

They put Galadon to bed together, settling the Elfling in the nursery with his cousins. “He insisted on sleeping here our second night,” Glorfindel murmured with a grin as he gazed at his sleepy son.

“I am glad he is happy to be in their company,” Erestor said.

“Children do not judge as harshly as their elders,” Glorfindel remarked. Before Erestor could respond to his tacit criticism of his father, he added: “Let us go, _meleth_.”—love.

The endearment caught Erestor by surprise. He blinked hard, struggling to keep his eyes from tearing. They walked silently to their bedchamber.

Hardly had they entered when Erestor swiftly bolted the door shut. He turned and leaned against the door as if to keep it closed with his own body. Glorfindel looked at him in surprise.

“What now, Erestor?” he asked.

The steward bit his lip, then said: “I will not let you leave me tonight.”

Glorfindel stared at him. “I was not planning to,” he replied.

“Good. Because we have to talk.”

He did not try to conceal his longing. Now was not the time for pride. He was relieved when Glorfindel did not balk but sat down on the side of the bed and, with a gesture, invited him to begin. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I have been trying to reach you,” he said tentatively. “To ask for your pardon. But you would not let me.”

The warrior did not deny his allegation. “I was hurt and angry,” he openly admitted. “I needed to calm my soul and I would not have succeeded had I opened myself to you then.”

“You seem at peace now,” Erestor haltingly remarked.

Glorfindel shrugged. “‘Tis fruitless to yearn for what is past and no more. I have come to terms with this.”

The quiet confession was searing beyond belief. Erestor shuddered visibly as he considered the other’s words.

“I love you,” he said suddenly. “Surely you do not doubt that.”

“I do not,” Glorfindel agreed. “But I also know I do not have an equal share of your heart. Galadon comes first with you now, not I.”

Erestor struggled to keep his composure. But his eyes glistened tellingly. “That is not so,” he whispered. “You have ever been the master of my heart.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I have seen little evidence of that these many years.” Before Erestor could interrupt, he made a slight gesture that silenced the steward. “‘Tis not the first time I will speak of this and I fear ‘twill not be the last. But you have proven over and again that between Galadon and me, ‘tis he you cherish more. I think I need not recall to you all the times when you chose to forego my company rather than be parted from our son.”

Erestor swallowed painfully. Glorfindel was right. There was no need for him to bring up the past. The past came forth to shame him. He lowered his head, unable to meet his mate’s eyes.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

Glorfindel only looked at him somberly. “Think no more of it,” he said. “I will school myself to be contented with what you can spare me. ‘Tis far better than to have nothing of you at all.”

Erestor’s head jerked up at that. “Do not say that,” he implored. “I have loved no one in all my life as I love you. That has not changed—not even Galadon means as much to me.” His voice dropped and he said imploringly, “I have wronged you grievously. If I have lost your trust, I have none to blame but myself. But I beg you to believe me when I say this will not happen again. And this promise I will not forget, Glorfindel.”

There were no histrionics, no overwrought declarations. Just a quiet heartfelt plea and a pair of emerald eyes that earnestly looked at him.

Glorfindel studied him intently. After a fraught while, he said, “I am glad you changed your mind and came here. I had thought my request too difficult for you to grant.”

The abrupt change in topic startled Erestor. “Why did you request it?” he queried. “You know how it is between your father and me. He blames me for all the ills that have ever befallen our bond, even ones I knew nothing about.”

“Aye, he does. And he will continue to find fault in you. That will not change. He will not change.” The captain sighed resignedly. “But he is still my father and one who has always loved me well. And I love him, Erestor, whatever his most grievous flaws. As you love Galadon.”

Erestor stared at him, for the first time seeing the sadness wrought by the irreconcilable differences between the Elf who had sired him and the Elf he had espoused. Glorfindel had chosen to cast his lot with Erestor and in so doing had gone against his father’s will. The steward had always known that the warrior regretted the circumstances that had warranted his distance from his family. What he had not realized until now was how much those regrets had wounded his mate.

“I will come here with you whenever you wish it,” he vowed. “I will not stand between you and your father.”

A small smile curved Glorfindel’s lips. “You proved yourself the better Elf this evening,” he remarked. “And do so even now. More than ever, I know I chose wisely.”

The urge to propel himself into the warrior’s arms became almost irresistible. But there was one last thing Erestor had to know. Even if it shattered his heart, he had to know.

“Did he—or she—take good care of you?” he tightly asked, fingers stiffly splayed across the intricate carving on the panelling of the door.

Surprise limned Glorfindel’s countenance. He frowned. “What are you talking about?” he said.

“I know you sought solace elsewhere when I denied you,” Erestor bravely pressed on. “As you presumably have each night since then.” He could not help the tremor in his voice as he said this.

Glorfindel looked at him in—what?—guilt? The warrior bowed his head, shaking it. To his shock, Erestor heard a most improbable gust of mirth leave the captain’s lips. He stiffened, wondering what could be so humorous about an imminent confession of infidelity.

The golden-haired Elda looked at him once more. “Aye, I sought solace,” he freely admitted. At Erestor’s pained reaction, he added: “On the couch in Elrond and Celebrían’s sitting room. They refused to let me be by myself in one of the guest chambers for they knew I was in dire need of what comfort and counsel they could give me.”

Erestor gaped at him, speechless at first. “Nay,” he protested finally in a hushed voice. “I know the scents of every bathing soap or oil in Elrond’s halls. ‘Tis I who requisitions them.” He bit his trembling lip. “I did not recognize the scent of the soap you bathed with those nights.”

Glorfindel’s lips twitched with suppressed laughter. “Ah, but are you familiar with Celebrían’s store of herbal soaps from Maltaurë?” he pointed out.

His amusement finally penetrated Erestor’s fogged senses. “You told Elrond and Celebrían?” he managed to say. When Glorfindel nodded, he blurted out: “No wonder they have been so accommodating of late!” A moment later, the more significant point finally registered on him. “You did not ... take another ... in my stead?” he stammered.

The mirth faded from the warrior’s eyes. “How could you think that I would?” he said. “I desire only you, Erestor. I could never share myself with another. I love you.”

Silence reigned between them for the next few minutes, Erestor braced against the door when his shaking limbs threatened to take him down, Glorfindel gazing at him, waiting. Another minute passed. And then the steward flung himself forward, a sound between a whimper and a groan forcing its way past his lips. At once, Glorfindel was on his feet, catching him in a fierce embrace.

Erestor moaned as his mouth was taken in fearsome hunger, its reaches rapaciously pillaged. He felt Glorfindel’s hands grip the silk of his tunic and, with one powerful tug, rip the material right down his back. Shocked, he instinctively drew away only to be caught back and kissed into near senselessness while the warrior made short work of his shirt as well. The remains of his raiment were swiftly hauled down his arms.

He was almost grateful when Glorfindel lowered him to the bed for he doubted his legs would have supported him much longer. But he hissed with some alarm when the warrior tore his breeches from his hips and yanked them down his legs. In what seemed like mere seconds, he was laid bare upon the bed.

He could not tear his eyes away from Glorfindel as the warrior swiftly stripped, his own gaze never leaving Erestor’s face. Shedding the last of his clothing, he stood a moment, raking the steward’s body with his darkened stare. And then he slid onto the bed, crawling up the length of Erestor’s form in a distinctly predatory manner.

It was then that Erestor lost all awareness of the world beyond the walls of their bedchamber. Glorfindel invaded him with all the ferocity and single-mindedness of a conqueror bent on the total surrender of his object of conquest.

Little of his body was left untouched or untasted. He cried out repeatedly as he was kissed and bitten and mauled. Lips rendered swollen by edacious plundering, nipples reddened from their sensual savaging, fair skin marked with the scarlet smears inflicted by a ravaging mouth and fingers—none would have recognized the cool, collected steward in the debauched-looking Elf who writhed wantonly beneath the golden warrior’s formidable body.

Glorfindel moved steadily downwards until he came to rest between Erestor’s legs. Without preamble, he lowered his head and summarily suckled the steward’s rigid length, drawing upon it so hardily, Erestor let out a strangled keen and tried to pull away. But Glorfindel caught him by the hips and only forced his legs further apart.

Tears streamed down the steward’s cheeks as sensation too strong to bear wracked his frame. Even the endurance of pleasure had its limit and it appeared he had reached his.

“Glorfindel, please ... mercy!” he cried out nigh incoherently.

He was afforded respite from the unrelenting ecstasy only for the briefest while. Before he could catch his breath, Glorfindel rolled him onto his belly and tugged his hips up so that he supported himself on his elbows and knees. He gasped as he was enfolded from behind in an embrace that left him utterly helpless. Unable to resist had he wanted to. 

At Glorfindel’s mercy.

He was taken deep and hard at first breaching. The sudden piercing began his inevitable unravelling. The hand that snaked around his hips to stroke his shaft hastened it. Caught beneath Glorfindel’s powerful body, he could only move as the warrior demanded and bear the brunt of his pounding thrusts. As Glorfindel drove into him repeatedly, it came to him that they had never coupled so wildly or vigorously before. 

The thought that he had unleashed the full measure of Glorfindel’s passion both terrified and thrilled him. Then all manner of thought were brutally shoved aside as his body yielded at last to the enormous pressure that had built up within with every delve and caress.

He fought the urge to scream his pleasure and lost it a split second later. It was a battle he could not have won and for the first time in his many years, Erestor heard his voice raised in a howl that resounded through the chamber. None who heard him could have mistaken it for anything but an expression of purest bliss. Or imagined that any other than Herusil’s youngest son had wrenched it from him for it was his name Erestor called out hoarsely at the height of his climax.

Near spent to swooning, Erestor sobbed softly as a few more cleaving thrusts brought Glorfindel to his own completion. He was no less vociferous than the steward had been but moments earlier, a choice selection of oaths and lubricious utterances streaming from his lips. The last was conspicuously and exceedingly bawdy and, coupled with Erestor’s name, caused the darkling’s Elf’s cheeks to crimson. Elbereth! Glorfindel had never referred to him thusly before!

It had the decided effect of exciting him all over again. But first, he had to recover from the effects of their love-play. Even elven fortitude needed time to be replenished after so thorough a draining.

Through the haze of his recovering wits, he felt Glorfindel withdraw from him and move off his trembling figure. He was pulled back against the warrior so that he lay on his side, fitting into the curve of his mate’s form. He clutched at the arm that held him, pressed back more closely against Glorfindel’s warm body. His deep sigh spoke volumes of his contentment and joy.

“Do you realize that this is the first time we have coupled in this house?” Glorfindel murmured lazily into his ear.

Erestor started then darted a glance at the near wall. He had completely forgotten who owned the neighboring chamber. “Your father – he must have heard us,” he whispered. “He will chasten you come morn, _seron vell_.”—beloved.

“He can chasten me until Valinor freezes over if he wishes,” Glorfindel said with a nip at a rosy-tipped ear. Erestor shivered at the sensation. “I refuse to forego our pleasure merely to soothe his sensibilities.”

It was not an act of defiance against Herusil but a re-affirmation of Glorfindel’s commitment to their relationship. Erestor drew a shuddery breath and turned over to face the warrior, still held snugly in his embrace. He lifted a hand and stroked Glorfindel’s cheek.

“I will not forget,” he softly reiterated.

Glorfindel smiled. “I know.”

Erestor gazed at him, love gleaming unabashedly in his eyes. “Still, I must make amends to you,” he murmured. “I know of something that might please you if you can await this summer’s end.”

The captain laughed softly. “I know of something that would please me now,” he drawled.

He pressed Erestor back onto the rumpled sheets, claiming his mate anew and the precious bond they shared.

****************************  
Glossary:  
Adar – Father  
Naneth - Mother  
Ada - Papa

_To be concluded..._


	5. Chapter 5

The loud murmur of the ocean filtered through the dense forest growth. It was music to Erestor’s ears as he stood on the balcony of the bedchamber he and Glorfindel shared.

Southern Valinor’s great virgin forest did not lie many leagues inland but nigh hugged the long coastline that marked its eastern bounds. It was largely untamed land, hardly explored by any of the Eldar. Perfect for Wood-elves still in the process of weaning themselves from the incertitude of the mortal lands and the battle-eagerness that came with it. As they had once struggled to preserve themselves against the threats that had encroached upon their Greenwood realm, now they diverted their strength and energy to carving out a niche of their own in the Undying Lands.

This was the newly founded realm of the last of the Mirkwood Elves. The most stubborn of the Firstborn and least willing to forsake Middle-earth in favor of Aman. Here Thranduil’s eldest son had chosen to settle with those of their people who did not care for the relative placidity of Taur Galen. ‘Twas this rugged kingdom that Melthoron and his valorous mate Haldorn called home.

He heard soft laughter from below and peered over the balustrade. He descried Elrohir and Legolas walking down the main path that led from the royal compound. They were headed for the beach. 

Erestor grinned. They were certainly taking their time getting there judging from the many stops they indulged in on the way. Stops caused by one or the other stealing a kiss or caress as they went.

It was kind of them to take him and Glorfindel along on their long-awaited holiday, Erestor thought. And so hospitable of Melthoron and Haldorn to provide a large suite of rooms for them in their large tree-top pavilion. They had even offered to secure a cabin for the captain and steward, but Glorfindel had assured them that they were not as raucous as Legolas and Elrohir to need a place to themselves. 

That had left Legolas red-cheeked and scowling, Elrohir smirking and Melthoron and Haldorn snickering. It was apparent that the tales of their much too ardent relationship had already been recounted even this far south.

Erestor smiled as the two finally disappeared from eyesight and earshot. Mayhap he and Glorfindel would join them in a while. He glanced back into the bedroom. The warrior still lay in restful repose on the wide bed, wearied no doubt by their exertions of the night before. The auburn-haired counsellor chuckled to himself at the memory.

He’d taken over their coupling for the first time in a long time. Taken Glorfindel as he had not in more months than he cared to count. That had not been due to Glorfindel’s reluctance to yield but his own lamentable inclination to just let the captain have his way with him that they might be done soonest. Erestor’s smile faded at the thought.

He had a long way to go to make amends to his golden warrior. Elbereth willing, he would pay his due in full and even more. This time alone away from their son, their various cares and duties and Glorfindel’s family was all the more valuable for the time and space it afforded Erestor to evaluate his relationship with his spouse. In particular, it had given him the chance to reassess the strength of the binding-pull between them.

It could be fought as Legolas had once done long ago though the effects of resistance to it were anything but desirable to say the least. It could be ignored if the affection between two spouses was diminished as happened during serious spats and the like. And it was always muted when a mate entered the Halls of Awaiting to spare the widowed Elf more than what could be borne of unfulfilled longing.

In his case, he had simply circumvented it by occasionally giving in to it. He had never lost awareness of its presence and when it had become too strong to set aside, had yielded to the urge. In each yielding, the intensity of the pull would subside for a while to a controllable level and he would go on as before. To Glorfindel’s detriment, he admitted with regret.

He realized it now. He had depended on the pull to keep him on this side of proper behavior as a spouse. He had failed to consider that the urge was but a guide; nature’s way of reminding bound Elves of their obligations to their partners. Allowed free rein, it was a powerful force and an essential aid for espousals wrought for eternity. But a bond could also be rendered inutile; even elven marriages could suffer the loss of love and passion should one partner or both cease to put effort into sustaining either.

They were very few, these hollow bindings, but they did exist and the tragedy of such cases was that the vows of fidelity were forever and virtually unbreakable. Only the passage of a spouse into Námo’s care opened the possibility of the surviving mate gaining freedom to love another. But what Elf could wish for such a thing to occur unless a seed of evil or malice existed in his or her heart to begin with?

Erestor shivered. He had weakened his bond with Glorfindel to an alarming degree; he could not deny it. Mayhap the warrior would not have betrayed his oath of faithfulness. But he could have wearied of waiting fruitlessly for Erestor to come around and simply returned to his family seat. They would have remained espoused but only in name. And there might have come a time that even the pull between them would have diminished significantly as to no longer have much influence on either of them.

The shiver turned into a shudder. The very idea of no longer feeling that special connection was enough to send cold chills racing up Erestor’s spine. He had not considered all these consequences in his zeal to nurture his only child, as he himself had not experienced in full. He had taken both Glorfindel and the binding-pull for granted, forgetting that in all things, Eru’s sentient creatures still possessed free will and could make or break their lives and destinies.

The pull was rooted in instinct. The success of a marriage lay in one’s conscious effort to abide by it. He would not make the mistake again of thinking it would take care of everything. The cost would be unendurable.

His breath hitched when strong arms slipped around him from behind and he was gently pulled back against a slender but powerful body. He let out a shaky breath. Glorfindel had drawn on a shirt to cover his bare form but he had not bothered to fasten it. Clad only in a thin bed-robe, Erestor could feel the warrior’s hard body all too easily. Including the beginnings of an early morning arousal. He fought to still his suddenly racing heart.

“‘Tis a wonderful day to wake up to,” Glorfindel murmured against his ear.

Erestor smiled even as a tremor coursed through his limbs. “Aye, it is. Legolas and Elrohir have already headed for the beach. Mayhap we could join them after breakfast?”

“Mmm, if they will care to have company,” Glorfindel chortled. “We have seen precious little of them these many days.”

Erestor laughed softly. “They indulge themselves rather fulsomely,” he conceded. “Never have I seen another bond as strong as that which they possess.”

Glorfindel sighed. “They are especially blessed,” he remarked. “But I think myself bountifully compensated as well – with you. And ‘tis a blessing that you were able to steal some time to be alone with me,” he softly added. “‘Twill tide me over when we return to Artirion and our duties.”

Erestor stiffened at the warrior’s words. Guilt washed over him once more and he swiftly turned in Glorfindel’s arms to face him. His eyes flashed with emerald flame as he beseechingly gazed at his mate.

“Do not speak so,” he pleaded. “You should not have to settle for mere crumbs of anything. You deserve only the best, _melethron_.”

“I do have the best,” the captain murmured, tracing a finger along Erestor’s jaw.

Erestor bit his suddenly trembling lip. “And I have but tasted of the worst,” he whispered. “If you ever stop loving me, I will know it in full measure. I never want to cause you such pain again, Glorfindel.”

“I do not think you will,” Glorfindel smiled. “You have been so attentive to me I scarce know how I survived all those centuries before we bound to each other.” He pressed a kiss to Erestor’s mouth. “And this holiday is a lovely gift, _seron vell_. I will always cherish this time with you.”

“Yet I do not wish for this to be only a cherished memory,” Erestor quietly insisted. “I intend for this to be but part of the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?” Glorfindel inquired, his hands working their way beneath the steward’s robe to catch him by his bottom and pull him flush against his own body.

Erestor gasped as he felt the warrior’s hardness nose up against his belly. There was no mistaking who would do the taking this morning. But first…

“The beginning of my efforts toward redemption,” Erestor whispered. He planted his hands on Glorfindel’s chest and firmly pushed the captain backwards towards the wood-woven divan on one side of the balcony.

Glorfindel eyed him questioningly but made no protest when Erestor urged him to sit down amidst the cushions. His gaze darkened when the steward knelt before him between his legs. And then he hissed when Erestor proceeded to put his lips and tongue to where they would do the most good.

Minutes later, the steward had made his searing way down to the captain’s groin. Glorfindel let out a low groan as he was engulfed in moist silken heat and steadily but gently drawn upon.

“Valar, I will be good for nothing else if you do not stop!” he finally growled after several more minutes of near unbearable bliss.

The counsellor raised his slightly tousled head and smiled. “That will not do,” he murmured.

He rose to his feet and, to Glorfindel’s amazement and delight, straddled the warrior’s lap. His gaze riveted on his golden spouse, Erestor lowered himself onto the shaft he had assiduously prepared and sheathed Glorfindel in the velvet warmth of his body.

They held still for several heartbeats, each adjusting to the sensations of their joining. And then Glorfindel grasped Erestor’s hips and, with a peremptory tug, silently requested him to move. The steward obeyed and thence started a dance that neither would stop until the very last strains of the song in their joined bodies faded away.

Naught but the sounds of their gasping breaths and husky moans broke the quiet. Sword and sheath. Taker and taken. Yet neither conquering nor conquered. The pleasure of the one who yielded was as great as that of the one who breached. It was shared. It was almost one and the same.

Erestor unravelled first, coming all undone when Glorfindel slipped a hand between them and stroked him to shuddery, breath-stealing rapture. With a soft cry, he found his release and spilled himself into the warrior’s fist. The waves of Erestor's climax inundating him coupled with the feeling of warm cream on his skin and the repeated enfolding of his tightly wrought shaft promptly impelled Glorfindel’s own pleasure to spiral wildly. 

He grabbed Erestor and held him so closely as to almost meld their bodies together. An instant later, he thrust up into the steward’s body and spent himself copiously. Fighting to stifle a much too telling shout of ecstasy, he suckled hard at Erestor’s throat instead, leaving a blatant bruise on the auburn-haired Edhel’s creamy flesh.

Raising himself off Glorfindel’s thighs, Erestor limply settled on his lap and sank into his spouse’s cradling embrace. They stayed thusly for the better part of the next quarter hour, kissing, nuzzling and caressing each other in utmost affection.

“If we go to the beach, ‘twill not be to swim,” Glorfindel warned with a rakish smile. “At least, not at once.”

Erestor chuckled. “Methinks, Elrohir and Legolas had the same thing in mind,” he grinned. “I do not hear a sound coming from yonder. Not so much as a squeal of laughter.”

Glorfindel grinned back. “They are insatiable, those two,” he commented with a shake of his golden head. “Astonishingly so.”

“And you are not?” Erestor shot back, eyebrows rising in mock scorn. “I can recall being unable to ride for days on end after enduring your more prolonged ministrations.”

Golden eyebrows rose as well. “Is that a complaint?” he questioned.

Erestor laughed. “Nay, ‘tis not,” he said. “Besides, I have never been much for riding.”

“Yet you do so most admirably,” Glorfindel smirked. His smile widened as a hint of color stained Erestor’s cheeks. “Indeed, you would put any of the Rohirrim to shame with your considerable abilities. From start to finish, you do not falter and only improve with every buck of your steed.”

“Shush, Glorfindel,” Erestor chided, his cheeks blossoming with color. “I am not one of Elrond’s sons to not be discomposed by such language.”

“But you could pass for one of them with your wanton, lusty display of—" He was summarily cut off by a hasty kiss from the now crimson-faced steward.

When Erestor at last drew back, Glorfindel was looking at him with suspiciously darkened eyes.

“I think we shall pass up the beach this morn,” he decided. “I seem to hear our bed calling to us to return without delay.”

With that, he shifted Erestor and hoisted the shocked steward over his shoulder as he rose from the divan.

“Glorfindel, put me down!” Erestor exclaimed as he was carried into the bedroom.

He gasped as he was quite unceremoniously dumped on the bed. Partly winded by so abrupt a landing, he stared up speechlessly at Glorfindel. The warrior shed his shirt then straddled the stunned steward.

“With pleasure, _meleth_ ”—love—he murmured huskily. He divested a suddenly anticipative Erestor of his robe. “Yours and mine.”

***************************  
Glossary:  
melethron – male lover  
seron vell – beloved (literally dear lover)  
Edhel - Elf

**_The End_ **


End file.
